A Song of Dogs and Direwolves
by KaibaGirl17
Summary: What if Sansa had left Kings Landing with the Hound during the Battle of Blackwater? This, along with many other decisions change the course. AU. Elements of the books and show. Enjoy.
1. Sansa

A/N: Alright, ladies and gentlemen, here I am once again with another GOT story. I hope you all enjoy it. Also, a special thanks to white pedal for looking over this.

Disclaimer: I do not own GOT or any of the characters, George R.R. Martin does, with HBO having the rights to the screen-work.

…

_Sansa hurried to her chamber as she heard another crash come from outside, followed by another wave of screams from the men outside._

_She tried to reassure herself that if Stannis's forces managed to sack the city, she would be safe. After all, he and Robb were allies, and surely Robb wouldn't take kindly to any harm befalling his sister. _

_Even still, this did nothing to quell the dread coursing through her entire being._

_The eldest Stark daughter smiled weakly when she saw the doll her father had given her. She had still been angry with him for killing her direwolf Lady at the time and rebuffed him when he presented it to her, stating she was too old for dolls. _

_Oh, how she regretted it, and what she wouldn't give to have him here now!_

"_Is the lady starting to panic?"_

_Sansa whirled around to see none other than Sandor Clega__ne, or the Hound as most referred to him, leaning against the wall, reeking of blood, sweat, and wine._

"_What are you doing here?" Sansa asked, clutching her doll to her chest. _

"_I'm not staying," the Hound answered. _

_For some reason, this troubled Sansa. Though he frightened her, the Hound was one of the only people in Kings Landing that she actually felt was being honest with her. She didn't always like his hateful demeanor, but she hadn't forgotten the day he had wrapped his cloak around her when Ser Meryn Trant had torn her dress before the whole court at Joffrey's command, her 'punishment' for her brother's actions against the king. _

_Nor had she forgotten how he had been the only member of the Kingsguard go back to find her during the riot in Flea Bottom following Princess Myrcella's departure to Dorne. When those men had attempted to have their way with her, after which she feared to even think of what they would have done to her. She could still feel that hatred with which they stared at her. She, who was an embodiment of what they could never have. Perhaps they justified what they were going to do to her by convincing themselves that she deserved it._

_But then, he had come. He had pulled the first man off of her and dispatched him with ease before making short work of the others. _

"_Where are you going?" the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them._

_The Hound turned and she could sworn his gaze softened slightly as it landed upon her, but in the dim light it was hard to say for sure._

"_Somewhere that isn't burning," he answered simply. "North maybe…"_

_She felt her heart drop into her stomach. Was he only saying this to torment her?_

"_I could take you with me," his next words caught her off-guard. "Could take you to Winterfell. I'd keep you safe. They're all afraid of me."_

"_I…I'll be safe here. Stannis won't hurt me," Sansa stated with more confidence than she felt._

_The Hound's face twisted with rage as he clasped her arm._

"_Look at me!" he snarled. "Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer. Your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday. The world is built b__y killers, so you'd better get used to looking at them, girl."_

_Despite the fear coursing through her, Sansa fixed her gaze upon the Hound._

"_You won't hurt me," she said, this time believing her own words, but to her surprise._

"_No, Little Bird," the Hound's voice softened slightly. "I won't hurt you."_

_With that, he turned to leave._

_As he did so, Sansa felt a slight tremor. What if this was her chance? He had offered to take her to Winterfell…she could go home!_

'_Say something!' something screamed in her head as the Hound opened the door._

"_Wait!" she called, a hand outstretched ever so slightly. "I…want to go home…I…I'll go with you…"_

…

"Keep your hood on, girl," the Hound rasped. "If you want to keep that head of yours, keep it covered."

Sansa frowned, but pulled the hood of her cloak over her fiery red hair.

"Not too many redheads out here," her unlikely companion snorted. "Last thing you'll want is anyone to see you, then you'll be headed right back to that cage."

Sansa bristled, but said nothing. After all, she had chosen to go with him.

A part of her couldn't help but fear that this was all some kind of a trick. The Hound was Joffrey's sworn-shield, at least he had been.

But then, she remembered what he had told her once; "A dog will die for you, but never lie to you."

"Thank you, ser," she whispered, unsure of what else to say.

The Hound scoffed.

"I thought I told you, Little Bird, I'm no Ser."

"Then what am I to call you?" Sansa questioned, turning to face him slightly.

"What I am," he answered simply, eyes trained ahead. "A dog."

"You're not a dog," the Stark girl replied. "You're a man. A warrior."

The Hound chuckled softly.

"I'm not one of the knights from those pretty little songs your septa filled your head with," he said softly. "After meeting the knights of Kings Landing, you should know those knights are nothing but a bunch of cu-"

"You're not," Sansa interrupted.

"I'm not a knight," Sandor sneered. "I piss on their vows."

"They don't honor their vows," Sansa looked down, remembering how Ser Meryn Trant had beaten her that day in the throne room. Had Joffrey not told him to leave her face, who knows what she would look like now?

As this thought entered her mind, she stole a glance at the side of the Hound's face and she immediately felt a sense of guilt. Nothing Meryn Trant could have done,to her would ever come compare to the scarred flesh the Hound had borne nearly all his life. And it hadn't been the knight in service to a madman who had done it, it had been Sandor's own older brother.

Sansa couldn't imagine anyone doing something so cruel to someone so young, especially not their own flesh and blood. Robb would have never hurt her that way, or any of their siblings for that matter. Nor would Arya, even when she was at her angriest with Sansa. Really, the worst she had ever done was stuff sheep dung in Sansa's bedding.

Not even Jon, with whom she had never really been close or affectionate to, would have ever done such a thing.

'_No wonder he hates his brother so much_,' she thought to herself.

At that moment, thoughts of her own family began to enter her mind. How could she face them after what,had happened? Would they understand why she had done what sje did?

She tried to convince herself, but she knew Robb would likely be furious and her mother disappointed. And what of little Bran and Rickon? And Arya...

Sansa felt a pain in her chest as she thought of her little sister. In spite of everything, she was still family and Sansa hadn't seen her since their father's death. She didn't know where Arya was or if she was even still-

"How long until we reach Winterfell?" She asked, forcing herself to quash the question she didn't even want to imagine the answer to.

"Be a little over a month if we took the Kingsroad," the Hound answered. "But we're not taking the Kingsroad. Bound to be Lannister men all over."

Sansa sighed. Even now that she was free, home was still so far away.

...

...

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the first chapter. And I do hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter will be out on Monday, February 24th. Until then, everyone. And no flames thank you. The Hound doesn't like them and neither do I.


	2. Sandor

A/N: Alright, ladies and gentlemen, as promised here is the brand new chapter. Thank you to Guest, white pedal, and magnus374 for the reviews, and with that we're going to go right in, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own GOT, ASOIAF, or any of the characters, George R.R. Martin does, with HBO having the rights to the screen-work.

…

Stranger's hoofs thundered as they trampled over the dirt as Sandor rode, the Stark girl seated in front of him, safely nestled between him and Stranger's neck.

"Will we be reach anywhere to rest before dark?" the girl asked, clinging to Stranger, as though if she were to let go she'd fall.

"No," Sandor answered, pulling back the reins and bringing his mount to a slower pace. "We'll be stopping here for the night. I don't mind being out after dark, but I'd rather not risk being stuck walking the rest of the way. And we'll both end up doing just that if the horse here doesn't get a rest."

"Do you even know where we are?" Little Bird asked with a slight frown.

"We're still along the Blackwater Rush," Sandor answered. "About another day's ride and we'll either reach Stony Sept or at least be nearby."

The girl sighed, but said nothing. No doubt she was still thinking of the close call with the Lannister reinforcements.

"Why do you think they call it the Goldroad?" Sandor smirked when she looked up at him, fear reflecting in those two little blue irises. "It connects Lannisport and Casterly Rock to King's Landing. And as you saw, that allowed Lannister troops to just pour in from the westernlands straight into the crownlands. And it's a good thing the ones we saw didn't see us. If we hadn't gone the other way, my head would be on a spike in front of the gates right now, and yours would be too, right beside your father's, if you were lucky."

"And if I wasn't?" the girl ventured.

"If you weren't, you'd be right back in your cage, free for the royal bastard to torture again," he sighed. "Only this time it'd be much worse."

As he said this, he noticed the girl was once again clutching that doll of hers to her chest, the only thing she had brought with her when they left the city.

There wouldn't have been time to pack any of her things, at least she had had the good sense to realize that. Not to mention, while they might have been able to sell off some of her jewelry, that would have just made it easier for the lions to find them. If bandits didn't first.

Sandor was confident that the scavenging vermin wouldn't be able to do much to him, but the girl on the other hand would have been easy prey.

Stranger came to a complete stop, allowing for Sandor to dismount before taking the girl by her waist and lowering her as well.

The light from the sun had softened as it began to fade, bidding the sky farewell, as Sandor led Stranger closer to the water.

As Stranger lapped up the water eagerly, a light breeze flew over the water and then through the trees.

Sandor noticed that the vibrant green leaves were beginning to slowly turn, their edges trimmed with a pale yellow.

"Looks like you Starks have the right of it," he said, turning back to Sansa, who was now clutching her cloak closer to her. "Winter _is_ coming. And soon by the looks of it."

Now that night was upon them, a small sense of relief came as well. Lannister soldiers were more likely to be guarding more well-traveled areas rather than the little spit between the Goldroad and King's Landing. And even if they were nearby, Sandor knew they'd be easy enough to hear or see before they even came too close and within a matter of moments, he could easily have the Stark girl and himself back upon Stranger and on their way.

As the air itself grew a bit colder, he noticed the girl shivering.

_'A Northern girl falling victim to the cold,'_ he snorted at the irony.

A part of him felt a bit of guilt, knowing that even if she was of the North, a highborn lady like her was far from likely to even know how to start her own fire, having always had someone else to do it for her.

With a sigh, he reluctantly set to building a small one. Wouldn't be worth the trouble of even taking her if she froze to death on the way.

Almost immediately after covering the small sparks with a bit of dead wood, a small flame quickly began to take form, catching onto the branches.

As the crackling began, Sandor felt his heart quicken slightly as he forced himself to draw back without making a sound.

"Seven hells," he growled softly. Even **now** he was **still** afraid of it.

He couldn't help but allow a small grunt of amusement as the girl immediately moved closer.

"I can tend the fire, so you don't have to," she offered. "I know you don't like it."

"At least you'd be doing something as well."

Sansa's face twisted into an annoyed grimace.

"Good night, ser!" she huffed, turning on her side so that she faced away from him and curling under her cloak.

...

...

I do hope everyone enjoyed this update, and I can promise things are going to get even more intense come next chapter, which will be out on Sunday, March 1st. Until then, everyone.


	3. Awful Honesty

A/N: Alright, ladies and gentlemen, as promised here is the brand new chapter. Thank you to white pedal for the review on the previous chapter. Enjoy this brand new one, ladies and gentlemen.

Disclaimer: I do not own GOT, ASOIAF, or any of the characters, George R.R. Martin does, with HBO having the rights to the screen-work.

…

She was awake before he was.

As she ran her fingers through her long, red hair, Sansa remembered what Sandor had said about her keeping it concealed, lest unfriendly eyes see it.

So, after she had managed to rid her hair of any tangles, she began to style it into a single rope braid, just like when her mother had done it.

Her stomach twisted just as tightly as her braid as she thought of her mother, and of home.

It had not been very long since she and her father and sister had departed for King's Landing, but now it might as well have been a lifetime past. Back when she had been so eager to go to the capital, revel in the attention that would have been paid her as the future queen.

'_What a fool I was!_' she chided herself inwardly. '_I thought if I wrote the letter-'_

The letter…

'_Robb must have been so disappointed,'_ a tear slowly rolled down her cheek, followed closely by another. '_And Mother…what if they blame me for what happened to Father? What if they blame me for Arya?'_

Then an even more terrible thought entered her mind. If she had only listened the night her father had come and told her and Arya to pack their things and that they were leaving as soon as possible…then perhaps they could have all safely stole out of King's Landing before anyone could be the wiser. Then she would either be en route to Winterfell by now, if not already there. Then her father, her septa, and all of the other members of her father's household would still be alive...

But she had protested, still clinging to that childish dream of being with her darling prince, who in truth turned out to be nothing more than a sadistic monster who had toyed with her and betrayed the love she thought she had felt for him.

But what did a silly little girl like her know about love? After all, the songs filling her head were nothing like what her life had been as of late.

And the horrors hadn't ended in King's Landing; just the day before, she and the Hound had happened upon what had appeared at first glance to be a discarded cart. It was only when they drew closer that she saw a man lying on the ground, his eyes staring emptily at the sky, blood blossoming over his clothing. Nearby lay younger man, this one not much older than Sansa herself from the looks of it, his throat slit from ear to ear.

"What are you doing?" she had asked when Sandor removed the younger man's shoes and tossed them to her.

"You'll be a lot better off wearing those than those dainty little slippers of yours," he had told her as he relieved the other man of his shoes as well. "After all, what good are they to dead men?"

The thought of walking about in the shoes of a dead man had sickened and unnerved her, but she found that he was right; they were easier to move around in on the rough ground. And it wasn't like they had taken something from someone in desperate need of it. As the Hound had stated, what use did dead men have for them?

As she turned to look back at him, she saw Sandor still sleeping.

As she continued to watch him, an odd sensation stirred within her as she took in the sight of the curtain of black hair that draped over the left side of his face, almost concealing the scars. His eyes were closed, but Sansa could see the sharp grey she knew them to be clearly in her mind's eye.

'_He doesn't scowl so much in his sleep_,' she mused, unable to suppress a bittersweet smile. _'It certainly helps a bit. Even still, the burn scars aside, he's not completely hideous…he actually looks…_'

"Girl."

Her thoughts came to a halt as her traveling companion yawned and sat up.

Sansa quickly tossed her braid over her shoulder and pulled her hood up over her auburn tresses once more.

"We'd better be moving on," Sandor said, lifting her onto Stranger before climbing up himself. "We're close to the Riverlands, at least then you might gain some safe passage through there. Family. Duty. Whatever the hell else the Tullys all prattle on about."

"Family. Duty. Honor. That's House Tully's motto, and it's a principal they live by," Sansa said, her voice hardening.

"And where was this sense of family and honor when Ser Illyn lopped off your father's head?" Sandor rasped, snapping the reins, coaxing Stranger to go faster.

"Joffrey had promised to be merciful!" Sansa fired back, her voice hitching slightly.

"People promise a lot of things, girl," Sandor sneered. "Swearing by the old gods or the new, or both."

"You don't even respect the gods," Sansa turned and glared at the man. "You named your horse after the Stranger!"

"Aye, and he's about as close as you'll ever get to seeing any of them, Little Bird," Sandor laughed, a bark-like sound as he patted the black courser, earning a snort in return as though the horse himself agreed.

…

Sandor couldn't help but laugh when the Stark girl glared at him. Something about the way her blue eyes flashed and her face turned nearly as red as her hair just amused him to no end.

"You're awful, you know that?" she huffed, turning her back to him and folding her arms crossly.

"I told you once before, girl," he said softly. "I'm honest. It's the world that's awful, thought your time there would have showed you that."

Sansa had no way to respond to that. Or rather, she did but she did not want to admit to Sandor that he was right.

...

...

I do hope everyone enjoyed that chapter, and the next one will be out on Saturday, March 7th. Until then, everyone.


	4. Dangers

A/N: Alright, I do apologize for the delay on this update, and a special thanks to magnus374 and white pedal for the reviews. Enjoy this new chapter, everyone.

Disclaimer: I do not own GOT, ASOIAF, or any of the characters, George R.R. Martin does, with HBO having the rights to the screen-work.

...

She was a woman now.

She had been for some time now, ever since that morning in King's Landing, but it had only been the last couple of days that she had truly realized it. Her waist had begun to take shape and her face, so childlike before, was slowly sharpening into that of a woman.

A troubling thought then came to mind; if the Battle of Blackwater hadn't come to pass, if she and the Hound hadn't left when they did...if she married Joffrey...

No.

She shook her head, forcing those thoughts away. She was far away from the demonic boy-king now, hopefully soon, she would be home or somewhere safe.

Suddenly, she heard a _splash!_ coming from the river behind her.

But the moment she turned to face the source of the sound, she immediately turned back around and gasped.

"Sandor!" she shrieked, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. "What do you think you're doing?!"

The man scoffed and tossed his now soaked long, black hair before plunging beneath the water once more. A moment later, as he emerged, despite her attempts to avert her gaze, Sansa couldn't help but notice the way the water glistened upon the man's chest, strong and muscled from years of combat and training...

Seeing the girl's face nearly as red as her hair, what little was visible behind her hands, Sandor waded to the shore, the water sloshing as his strides cut through it like a knife.

"You could at least have the sense of decency to cover yourself!" the Stark girl huffed, having retreated several steps and turning her back to him.

"The Little Bird is shy I see," Sandor chuckled. "You didn't seem so shy when you thought to marry Joffrey. Tell me girl, do you know what it means to truly know a man? I trust you figured out what happens in a marriage bed."

Sansa crossed her arms and hugged herself. She had known that one day, she would be expected to do her duty as wife, but she certainly had no intentions of discussing such intimate matters with a man who was not her husband.

She immediately tensed as she heard another snort come from right behind her. The young girl did not have to turn around to know that it was the Hound.

"You at least smell a bit better," the words flew from her lips before she could even think to stop them, and now she found herself immediately regretting it.

But instead of any rebuke, Sandor only laughed.

"Perhaps there are some claws hiding behind those pretty little songs of yours," he remarked before stalking back to his horse.

Sansa could feel the sweat inside of her gown. She would have so loved to bathe as well, but she would not do so in front of Sandor Clegane.

...

She had been a woman since that morning, there had been no hiding it. Not that the Little Bird hadn't tried.

As he watched her stir softly, her fiery hair spilled from under her hood. She had wrapped herself in her cloak, the garment concealing what he knew to be a woman's body beneath it.

He could have her, he realized.

As Sandor moved closer, he knew she wouldn't be able to fight...

No. He had promised he wouldn't hurt her.

'_A dog will die for you, but never lie to you.'_

Those were the words he had told her back in King's Landing. And unlike the knights of that teeming nest of vipers, who hid their true selves beneath a title, armor, and pretty words of hollow chivalry, he intended to keep them.

So, with a heavy sigh, he moved away from the sleeping girl, taking care to put as much distance between himself and the fire as possible.

He had just fallen asleep when he heard leaves crunching. But before he could make a single move, someone or something came up from behind and slip something over his head.

He heard Sansa scream, but before he could react, he could feel the unmistakable blade of a sword pressed against his throat. Even through the rough fabric of the covering over his head, he could feel the sharpness.

"Take them," he could make out a voice amidst Sansa's cries to be let go, and the attempts to silence her.

...

...

Alright, I do hope everyone enjoyed that new chapter, and I do hope you will let me know if you did, and again apologies for the delay. But rest assured, I won't torture you with that cliffhanger for long. The next chapter will be out on Wednesday, April 1st. Until then, everyone.


	5. Trial by Combat

A/N: Alright, ladies and gentlemen of fanfic, as promised here is a brand new chapter for you, and this one is extra long. Thank you to white pedal, DarthMaine, and magnus374 for the reviews on the previous chapter. Enjoy, everyone.

Disclaimer: I do not own GOT, ASOIAF, or any of the characters, George R.R. Martin does, with HBO having the rights to the screen-work.

...

Robb stared into the flickering flames, his mind a field of turmoil. His mother had undermined his authority, the Kingslayer was no longer his prisoner, and now he feared she had opened the door to the seven hells.

"Your Grace."

Robb was pulled from his stupor by none other than Olyvar Frey, his young squire.

"Yes?"

"A letter for you, Your Grace."

As Olyvar handed the letter over, a puzzled Robb saw the seal bearing the Frey sigil. Surely Olyvar had noticed, for he wore an expression combined of anticipation and worry as the King in the North broke the wax seal and began to read.

For someone nicknamed The 'Late' Walder Frey, the man certainly didn't seem to take too kindly to others being late, or what he interpreted as such.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but-" Olyvar began before Robb held a hand to silence him.

"This concerns your family, so it's only fitting that you know what this letter says," Robb said, giving the boy an understanding smile. "It seems your father does not wish to wait until the fighting has ended. He says if he is to continue to supply men to our cause, thereby honoring his part of the agreement, he feels that I should also honor mine, particularly when there is a chance I might be killed on the battlefield. So, he wishes for me to marry your sister sooner rather than later."

"Roslin?" Olyvar asked.

Robb nodded and reached for his quill, dipping it in the inkhorn, before guiding it over the parchment sitting before him.

"I'll send for Roslin to be brought to Riverrun, we will join her there within a fortnight. We will then be married, after which time your father promises to send the rest of his men to join us."

"That sounds like him," the young Frey sighed. "He'll want to be sure there's a benefit for him."

"It's a benefit to me as well," Robb admitted. "Particularly if Lord Karstark turns against me."

"Roslin is prettier than the others," Olyvar piped up earnestly. "And she's very sweet. I think you'll like her, Your Grace."

Robb couldn't help but smile. He may have been forced to take the boy on as his squire, but the firstborn Stark found that he had grown rather fond of the lad. Perhaps, should his fortune hold, his match with Roslin may prove to be a good one yet.

…

Sansa gasped as the hood was removed from her head. As she looked around in a frenzy, she noted that the only light seemed to stem from the great firepit in the center of the earthen floor.

'_We're in a cave,_' she realized. '_They brought us to some sort of cave…but why? Who are these men? And what do they want with us?_'

They couldn't be Lannister men; if they had been, Sandor would be dead and Sansa would be on her way back to King's Landing, wishing she were dead.

"How did you get 'im?" she heard a man laugh.

"Looks like not even a dog's immune to the wiles of a woman if you'd believe it," the man leading a still-hooded and bound Sandor chuckled.

Sansa watched as Sandor's wrists, flecked with dried blood, twisted within the confines of the rope. How she wished she were able to free him as he had freed her.

Suddenly, the sack that had acted as a hood was snatched from his head and the scarred side of Sandor's face seemed much more horrific in the shifting shadows cast by the fire, even more so when his face twisted into a deep scowl as he set eyes on the man before him.

"I know you," he growled at him. "Thoros of Myr."

"And you're the Hound. A bit far from home, aren't you, Clegane?" the one called Thoros sneered.

Sansa tried to remain calm as she heard the clamor between Sandor and the others. After all, she had endured Joffrey, could these men really be any worse?

"Knights?" Sandor's scoff pulled her back to reality. "Dondarrion's the only one here that was ever made a knight, but the rest of you," he spat at Thoros's feet. "The rest of you are the just sorriest lot of outlaws and broken men I've ever seen. You Stark deserters, your lord Eddard's daughter stands before you. Why don't you tell her you're fighting for her dead father? Were you the brave soldiers you claim yourselves to be, Ned Stark's head would still be on his shoulders!"

"You'd best watch how you bark, dog," replied one of the men ask he drew his sword. "Else you'll be swallowing that tongue of yours."

"If you're going to murder me, then bloody well get on with it," Sandor rasped.

Sansa's heart dropped in her stomach. She couldn't explain it, but the mere thought of the man who had rescued her from King's Landing, from the demented and sadistic Joffrey and his apathetic and ruthless mother, dying here in this cave filled her with dread.

"You will die soon enough," promised Thoros, "but it shan't be murder, only simple justice."

"Aye," came the voice of another, "And a kinder fate than someone like you deserves. Lions, your kind call yourselves. At the Mummer's Ford, murdering young girls after putting them through the worst kind of torture, cutting down mere babes and forcing their poor mothers to look on. Don't know of lions that kill like that."

"There were men at the Mummer's Ford, but in case you daft bastards hadn't noticed, I wasn't one of them" the Hound told him. "So you're free to lay your dead children at some other door."

"House Clegane was built upon dead children!" Thoros declared passionately. "I saw them lay Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys before the Iron Throne!"

Sandor's mouth twitched.

"Do you take me for my brother?" he demanded. "Is being born Clegane a crime?"

"Murder is a crime!"

"I'm sick of your bloody pious prattle. You want to cut my throat? Get on with it! But don't call me "murderer," and pretend that you're not."

"You **are** a murderer!" a new voice joined the fray. "You murdered Mycah!"

Sansa's eyes widened. She knew that voice…

"Arya!" she gasped softly.

And when she whirled around, there stood a dirty and disheveled Arya, her eyes blazing with fury and hatred.

"Mycah was the butcher's boy," Arya continued, her voice quivering ever so slightly. "And my friend. He was only an unarmed boy and you rode him down!"

"Aye, I did," Sandor agreed. "Little bleeder stunk up the saddle for weeks."

Sansa turned her attention to the one they called Beric Dondarrion, who now looked nothing like the man who had taken her old friend Jeyne Poole's fancy. "The girl has named you a murderer. Do you deny killing this Mycah?"

The Hound shrugged.

"I was Joffrey's sworn shield. The butcher's boy attacked the prince."

"That's a lie!" Arya squirmed in the grip of the man now holding her back. "It was me! I hit Joffrey! Mycah just ran away."

"Then I should have killed you! It wasn't my place to question princes!" Sandor fired back. "Your own sister backed Joffrey when she stood before King Robert."

"Sansa's just a liar," Arya sneered, fixing her sister with a look of pure venom. "And a traitor. You stood beside Joffrey while he murdered our father!"

"He promised to be merciful!" Sansa shrieked. "You weren't the one he forced to look at Father's head on a spike!"

"So you're _precious _prince truly wasn't so wonderful after all," Arya let out a bitter laugh. "And it seems you traded one monster for another."

"Arya, that's not true!" Sansa cried, her own temper rising. "You don't know what you're talking about! I see that hasn't changed."

Thoros pulled Beric aside and the others gathered began to murmur amongst themselves.

"He's a murderer, he's guilty!" Arya shouted at them.

"He was only doing as he was told!" Sansa was becoming frightened. She realized that she couldn't let them kill Sandor. She couldn't let him die!

"LIAR!" Arya managed to break loose from the man holding her and immediately hurled herself as Sansa, seizing her sister's auburn ringlets and yanking as hard as she could. "You're a liar!"

Sansa let out a cry of pain and immediately began attempting to throw her enraged sister off, all the while attempting to shield herself from the worst of the blows.

It must have only been seconds, but it felt like an eternity before Beric and Thoros finally pulled the pair apart, Arya still swiping and snarling like an animal.

Beric then turned back to Sandor. "You stand accused of murder, but no one here knows the truth or falsehood of the charge, so it is not for us to judge you."

"And it seems the only two who can act as witnesses would rather try to kill _each other_," Sansa heard one of the men behind her say with a snort.

As Beric continued his words, Sansa thought of what Arya had said.

Sandor had indeed cut down the butcher's boy Mycah. At the time, Sansa herself had been so wrapped up in her blond prince and the golden future she had envisioned they would have together that she didn't spare a single thought for the poor boy who had only been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She then remembered Lady, her gentle direwolf, whose life had also been forfeited to the events of that fateful day. She had not been there when the light left Lady's eyes forever, but she recalled the pain she had felt to know that one of her precious loved ones had been stolen from her. Was that how Arya had felt to know that her friend had been murdered? Was that how the butcher had felt when they presented his son's remains to him in a sack? Jeyne had once said Mycah had been in so many pieces that the poor man thought they had brought him a slaughtered pig. Of course, Jeyne had had a penchant for elaborating certain details when telling stories.

The eldest Stark daughter had been so deeply immersed in her thoughts that she nearly missed what was said next.

"I sentence you to trial by combat," Beric's words cut like a knife. "And it's me you'll face."

A cold smirk graced Arya's features, and Sansa once again felt uneasy. She knew Sandor could almost certainly win the fight, but who was to say these men would keep their word? After all, the lion's share of them were indeed deserters, not only from the Lannisters, but then Baratheons and the Starks as well.

'_He has to win,'_ she clasped her hands together tightly as this thought entered her mind. '_He **has** to!'_

...

She had prayed for this moment.

Every day and every night since that fateful journey on the Kingsroad, the youngest Stark girl had hoped and prayed that the Hound would pay for Mycah's death, and now it seemed he would. Her only regret was not being able to kill him herself.

She shot her sister another glare. What had Sansa been doing with Clegane in the first place? Wasn't she supposed to be trailing after Joffrey?

She shook her head. It didn't matter now. The Hound would die in this cave, and she intended to watch as he did.

The man Arya knew to be the Mad Huntsman handed the Hound a shield painted yellow, the three black dogs of House Clegane emblazoned upon it as Beric was given his own shield.

As the pair prepared to face each other, Beric drew the side of his blade across his palm. Blood oozed from the wound and coated the flat end of the blade and in an instant, the sword took fire.

Arya heard Gendry whisper a prayer behind her.

"Is that wildfire Lord Beric's using?" she questioned softly.

"No," Gendry answered just as quietly. "This is something different..."

"Magic?"

She could see the Hound's eyes widen slightly as the flames shot upward. And when she looked to see Sansa's reaction, her sister's face was set in a look of absolute terror.

...

Sansa wanted to shout and curse Lord Beric. But she was in no position to argue.

The familiar sound of steel on steel filled the cave as Sandor's sword met the flaming one. Sandor slashed at Beric, only for the latter's shield to block the blow, chips of wood flying from it.

The flames swirled about his sword and left red and yellow remnants in its wake, and with each move move Lord Beric made fanned them and made them burn brighter and as Sandor edged back, Beric slammed into him, causing him to stagger back, nearly right into the firepit.

"Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!" The other occupants of the cave were all chanting loudly over the hiss of the flames and Sandor's frantic snarls.

"KILL HIM!" Arya's cry rang out above them.

"No!" Sansa screamed, completely disregarding what was happening and trying to hurry forward, but she felt someone seize her shoulders while she felt another set of arms wrap around her waist.

It was as if she were at her father's execution again. Helpless, screaming, trying in vain to break loose of those reatraining her, forced to watch another that she loved die...

Wait...where had that come from?

Suddenly, she heard a shout of revulsion. Sandor had managed to successfully relieve Beric of his shield, but his own had caught fire.

Even from where she struggled to free herself, she could see the fear in his eyes as he hacked savagely on the broken wood, only for the flaming wood to cling stubbornly to his forearm. His efforts to free himself only fanned the flames.

Lord Beric advanced and lowered his body, clearly intending to end it all now.

A rasping scream tore from Sandor's lips as he raised his sword and swung with all his remaining strength. Lord Beric raised his own blade to block it-

Sandor's blade plowed into his opponent's flesh, cleaving him from shoulder to breast bone, with ease of one carving a cake. Torrents of blood came rushing out, coating Beric's chest as his corpse tumbled to the ground, his single remaining eye wide and vacant.

The men holding her seemed to be absolutely stunned, for when Sansa jerked foward, they made no move to seize her again, and the red-haired Stark found herself hurrying toward Sandor, who was still attempting to free his arm from his burning shield. Then to her horror, a small flicker caught onto his sleeve, and within the blink of an eye, his entire left arm was in flames.

"Sandor!" Sansa screamed, hurrying over to where the latter had finally flung the burning wood away and was now attempting to smother the fire running along his arm.

...

Arya seethed. How had everything gone so wrong? She had prayed hundreds of times. So how had the Hound won? Why was he still allowed to live after what he had done?

And then a new question arose; why was Sansa acting so strangely?

...

...

Alright, I do hope you all enjoyed that new chapter. The next one will be out on Monday, April 6th. Until then, everyone


	6. Tensions

A/N: Alright, here is a brand new chapter for your reading pleasure, and while there's been a lot of silent readers, I do hope you guys are enjoying the story so far. Thank you to magnus374 for the review on the previous chapter. Enjoy, everyone.

Disclaimer: I do not own GOT, ASOIAF, or any of the characters, George R.R. Martin does, with HBO having the rights to the screen-work.

...

When Sansa reached him, she noticed that Sandor had managed to smother the fire that had just seconds before run all along his left arm.

As she fell to her knees beside him, she saw him weakly clutching his arm, the flesh now an angry red, cracked and bleeding from elbow to wrist.

"Help me," he groaned softly, his normally stormy eyes glimmering as another wave of pain tore through his body. "I'm burned. Help me..."

Sansa gasped. He had frightened her so much back in King's Landing, and still did if she were being honest, and yet here he was, actually crying.

'_He's hurt,_' she reminded herself. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

She knew the story of his scars, and the lifelong fear of fire the incident had left him with.

"Help him!" She screamed at the shocked onlookers. "He won the trial now **help him**!"

Suddenly, she saw Arya running toward with a blade in her hand, her expression murderous.

"Don't!" The one who had stood near her during the fight seized the younger Stark by her waist and lifted her from the ground.

"No!" Arya shrieked, flailing in his grasp, kicking her feet furiously. "Let me go!"

"If the little she-wolf wants a turn, let her have it," Sandor spat.

"Burn in hell!" Arya screeched, her eyes filled with hatred.

"He will," a familiar voice murmured. "But not today."

Sansa's eyes widened as she turned to look at the owner of the voice and her jaw dropped. It was Lord Beric Dondarrion.

"Impossible..." she gasped softly.

"See to the dog's burns," Beric instructed two men, who nodded.

Sansa glared at the men as they stepped closer before shifting her gaze to Thoros.

"You wanted help for him," Thoros said with a shrug.

Sansa said nothing. She knew from her experiences in King's Landing that sometimes holding one's tongue could mean the difference between life and death.

She could hear a growl from Sandor as they tended to his arm and she could see a seething Arya glaring over at him before it shifted to Sansa herself.

'_I hate you,_' she mouthed before sharply turning her head away.

...

Arya fought the urge to vomit as she watched members of the Brotherhood tend to Clegane's burns.

'_He should have died_,' she thought savagely. '_They should be preparing to leave his body to rot in the woods. He doesn't deserve a proper burial. Not after what he's done.'_

The fact that he was still breathing after the trial was already infuriating enough, but seeing her sister watching the men of the Brotherhood tending to his injuries was even more so.

If one didn't know better, they would take the look in Sansa's eyes for one of concern for the Hound's well-being.

That was troubling, yet what truly captured Arya's attention was that Sansa was travelling with the Hound at all. After all, hadn't she been Joffrey's betrothed?

But then she remembered Beric, Thoros, and some of the others talking about how during the Battle of Blackwater, the Hound had apparently become frightened and fled the battlefield.

So, he had deserted the Lannisters...

Had he perhaps kidnapped Sansa? But why?

Then, it dawned on her; the Hound would be considered a fugitive and no doubt had a bounty on his head. Was he using Sansa as a shield to ensure that no Lannister men came after him, lest they endanger their king's bride-to-be?

But that still didn't explain why her vain elder sister was regarding him as some sort of hero, like the knights in those stupid songs she so loved.

...

"What has happened here is **YOUR **fault!" Joffrey seethed, pointing at his mother. "You forced me to agree to marry her. But you never stopped prattling on about how stupid she is, or how she hails from a family of traitors! And in addition to all of that, **you** were supposed to be watching her during the battle! She was supposed to be with you and the other women and children. But no, you were in the Throne Room with Tommen. Now because of your carelessness, both Sansa and the Hound are gone!"

Cersei shifted uncomfortably in her seat, knowing it would be futile to remind her son that he had also complained of the Stark girl's foolishness and her 'traitor's blood'.

"It seems rather poetic when you think about it," Tyrion remarked, smirking into his goblet.

The still livid Joffrey rounded on his uncle.

"And _how_ is **that**?" he snarled.

"Yes, what morsel of wisdom do you have to offer?" Cersei sneered, secretly delighted that her son's anger had now shifted to her hated brother.

"It was your actions," Tyrion said to Joffrey before turning to face Cersei, "And _your_ orders that cost the Stark girl her beloved direwolf. And now you've lost your dog because of her."

"I'll have both of their heads on pikes!" Joffrey roared.

...

...

Alright, everyone I hope you enjoyed that. If you did, feel free to let me know. In the meantime, the new chapter will be out on Monday, April 27th. Until then, everyone.


	7. Pardons and Partings

A/N: Here you are, everyone. As promised, here is a new chapter. Thank you to magnus374, Guest, and Guest for the reviews on the previous chapter. I hope you all enjoy this new chapter as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own GOT or any of the characters, George R.R. Martin does, with HBO having the rights to the screen-work.

…

"Where's my gold?" Sandor demanded.

"This note states clearly that you'll be repaid when the war's ended," one of the Brotherhood answered, indicating the little slip of paper as he did so.

"Piss on that!" Sandor spat, smacking the note away and glaring daggers. "Am I supposed to believe the word of thieves?"

"We're outlaws," another man declared haughtily. "You're lucky you're leaving this cave with your life."

Sandor growled, but Sansa touched his arm slightly and shook her head, hoping he would understand the silent plea not to make things worse. They were going to be let go, surely that meant more than a little gold.

"Let's just go," she whispered.

"He'll be traveling alone, sweetling," spoke another man as he stepped up behind her. "Wouldn't you rather stay here with your sister?"

"Don't pretend you're thinking of her!" Sandor's eyes lit up with fury. "The girl's coming with **me**!"

"You're in no position to be trying to strike bargains," Thoros pointed out. "After all, she's more valuable than that gold you lost. Why, if we handed her off to Robb Stark along with that sister of hers, they'd fetch quite a bounty together."

"You claim to be defending the weak when you'd sell a pair of girls?" Sansa asked, her gaze hardening as she stared at the red priest.

"You're free to go, Clegane," Thoros said, ignoring Sansa's words. "You can even have your horse back."

"I still say we should kill him," the man behind Sansa said with a scowl. "We could use that horse."

"None of you bloody girls could even lay a hand on that horse," Sandor smirked. "Not without losing a few fingers or even your whole hand."

"Then you can take the horse and we'll take the Stark girls," Thoros shrugged. "I'd say a fair trade."

Sansa thought for a moment. She knew Sandor would not leave without fighting these men, a fight he could possibly win, but then they would have what they believed to be a just reason to kill him.

"Perhaps we could make another arrangement," she spoke up just as Sandor was reaching for his blade.

Thoros raised an eyebrow.

"And what might that be, Lady Stark?" he asked with a hint of mockery.

"You allow us to go free, and in return my brother, the King in the North, will be in your debt," Sansa stated, fighting back a smile when she saw a few of the mens' expressions become curious. "Yes, a number of you are Stark deserters, but if you do this service to him, Robb would be inclined to issue each of you a full pardon. Houses Stark and Tully are bound and both currently follow him. If you grant us the chance to be returned to him, you will have nothing to fear from Stark or Tully bannermen. In addition to that protection, I am certain that my brother will also reward you handsomely for your efforts against the Lannister forces."

"We're not your brother's attack dogs," spat a man standing near Arya.

"I did not say that you were," Sansa retorted. "I merely made an offer, but if you choose not to take it-"

"How do we know you'll actually keep your word?" came a sneer from the one who suggested taking Sandor's horse.

"You would call a lady a liar?" Sansa glared.

"Your brother is said by all accounts to be as honorable as Lord Eddard Stark was," Beric interceded. "And it is clear there is still a purpose yet to be revealed. But I sense that it shall be revealed in time, but only if we follow the path set before us. Very well, go in peace, Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark."

"And Arya," Sansa added.

"No!"

Sansa turned to see Arya, still clasping the knife she had attempted to stab Sandor with before.

"Arya, you-"

"I'm not going anywhere with the pair of you!" Arya snapped. "You're still the same as you were in King's Landing. You haven't changed a bit. I will not go with you and be used as a shield so the Hound can keep his head!"

"If Mother and Robb heard you speaking this way, do you realize how hurt they would be?" Sansa demanded. "We have the chance to go home finally. Why are you being so stupid?!"

"Yes, you've _always_ thought I was stupid," Arya growled. "But it was your stupidity that doomed us!"

"You…you don't know what you're talking about!" Sansa's voice quivered.

"We could have left for Winterfell with Father when we had the chance. But you were so worried about marrying your beloved Joffrey and being queen, we missed our chance," Arya's eyes were filled with bitter anguish and her words filled with venom. "You let Father die! And even after what he did, you still wanted to marry Joffrey!"

"I did not!" Sansa screamed. "I hate him more than anyone! That's why-"

"Enough!" Thoros shouted over the girls. "Clegane, take your Stark girl and be off!"

"Girls," Sandor amended.

"No, **girl**. You'll have one and we'll have one," Beric said with a smile. "Enough reward to go around."

Sandor grunted, but led a protesting Sansa to the mouth of the cave where a pair of men covered their heads with hoods once more and led them from the cave.

…

"We're just a few days from Riverrun," Robb said with a sigh of relief.

"Perhaps we'll arrive before Roslin," Olyvar stated brightly.

Robb bit back a snort of amusement. His young squire seemed absolutely determined to act as a mediator for his king and his sister. He couldn't blame him of course; it was natural that he would try to make light of the arranged marriage.

"I shall have to also deal with my mother," Robb said with a downtrodden frown.

He wasn't pleased in the slightest that his mother had released Jaime Lannister. He understood she had done it out of desperation, but it still did not excuse the fact that she let a hostage that carried so much value go purely for the sake of a bargain that might not even be worth it. Who was to say that even after the Lannisters got Jaime back that they would honor the pledge and return Sansa and Arya?

Especially if the rumors circulating were true. One particularly unsettling one was that Joffrey's sworn shield the Hound had deserted during the Battle of Blackwater and had taken Sansa with him. Others spoke of Arya having been killed when the Lannister troops slaughtered Ned Stark's household in King's Landing.

Had his mother only traded a living man for dead girls?

…

…

Alright, I do hope everyone enjoyed that new chapter and the next one will be out on Tuesday, May 5th. Until then, ladies and gentlemen.


	8. Claws

A/N: Here is the new chapter. I know this is incredibly late again, and I do apologize to you lot for that, but hopefully the contents of this update will make up for that. And to ensure that it doesn't happen again, I took the liberty of writing out the next three chapters, so if unforseen circumstances should arise again, this won't be a problem. That said, I do hope everyone is keeping safe during this craziness. And thank you to Magnus374 for the fantastic review on the previous chapter, and an additional thank you to all of my silent readers. Enjoy the new update, ladies and gentlemen.

Disclaimer: I am neither George R.R. Martin, nor am I HBO, and so I have no claim to the books, show, or characters.

...

"Your Grace."

Robb looked up from his letter to see Olyvar in the doorway, his expression one of suppressed excitement.

"Roslin has arrived," the lad reported.

Robb nodded and got to his feet.

"Then I shall see her at once," he said with a smile, hoping to set his squire at ease. It was plain as day that the young Frey was still desperate to please him.

Olyvar smiled hesitantly in return and the pair left the room and began making their way to where Robb's bride-to-be waited.

…

Roslin Frey was seventeen, about the same age as Robb himself, but she was quite small for her years. Nevertheless, her comeliness more than made up for it.

The moment her big brown eyes met his blue ones, Roslin immediately lowered her gaze.

"Your Grace," the girl went to her knees before glancing timidly up at him. "I…I hope I am not a disappointment to you."

Robb couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness as Roslin knelt before him, her gaze still shifted downward. He could even swear he saw her tremble slightly.

He did not want her to fear him. He might not necessarily love her, but he certainly didn't want the woman who would be his wife and, should his good fortune hold, the mother of his children, to be uncomfortable in his presence as he was sure her mother and stepmothers had been in Walder Frey's.

"Never, my lady," he said, taking care to keep his voice steady as he gently took her hand in his own and helped her rise to her feet before placing a kiss upon her hand. "You are a delight to me."

This was true; he had truly been paranoid that Lord Frey, whose female offspring were not exactly known for their beauty, might have sent one of his less than lovely girls, knowing that Robb would be bound by his word, as well as their pact, to accept her. And if he did not, Frey would have ample cause to withdraw his support.

His words seemed to have their desired effect, for at that moment Roslin's heart-shaped face composed into a shy smile as she glanced up at him again.

"My lady, you must be cold and tired from your journey," Robb said, taking note of the dampness of Roslin's chestnut tresses and the water droplets still clinging to her cloak and turning to one of his men. "See her to the chamber prepared for her."

"Yes, Your Grace," the man bowed slightly and turned to do just that. But first, Robb needed to do one more thing.

"If you require anything, you need only ask," he told her, clutching her hand. He knew this marriage would come to pass no matter what, but he still wanted to make sure his betrothed would have no cause to feel discomfort from him. "You need not worry about troubling me."

Roslin looked a bit hesitant, but she gave him another shy smile and a slight nod before following her escort to the chamber promised her.

"Lovely, that one," Edmure remarked when she was out of earshot. "You were fortunate, Nephew. Frey's brood are not always so well-favored."

"She's pretty enough, but rather thin," Catelyn fretted. "But then her mother was a Rosby. They've been known to be small-framed, but it might not hinder her ability to mother children."

Robb frowned.

"She will be my wife all the same," he spoke tersely. "And your daughter by law, Mother. As well as the Queen in the North. Take care to be kind to her."

Catelyn was a bit taken aback by the coolness of her son's tone.

Robb did take his uncle's words to heart though; Roslin was indeed lovely, and if what Olyvar said was true, she was kindly as well. Even if he couldn't truly say he loved her, perhaps the pair could at least be of good company to each other. He was certainly lucky to have not been bound to what might well have been Walder Frey's female counterpart, both in looks and demeanor.

...

"I'm nearly finished, if you'll just hold still for just a moment longer," Sansa tried to keep her voice calm, but she was beginning to become rather cross as Sandor's arm shifted once more. "This will go much more quickly if you would stop moving."

"You're the one who insisted on changing the dressing," Sandor snapped. "I told you it wasn't worth the bother."

"You won't say that when the wound gets infected from poor hygiene," Sansa fired back, frowning slightly as she finally managed to secure the cloth bandages around Sandor's arm. "There, it's finished."

Sandor grunted and moved to lie on the ground.

"Best we get some sleep while we can," he said, stretching his injured arm outward and groaning softly as he did so.

"If what they said is true, we'll be at Riverrun soon," Sansa said, offering a small smile. "Then you'll have your reward and my brother's gratitude."

"I'll wipe my arse with your brother's gratitude," Sandor spat, closing his eyes. "Besides, it would seem he had better things to worry about his sisters."

"He has to be concerned with what's best for the North!" Sansa stated fiercely. "He couldn't show any weakness or the Lannisters would-"

"Tywin Lannister knew your precious brother would want to prove himself to the Northern Lords," Sandor sneered as he sat up and looked at her, "After all, you were to marry Joffrey. As far as the Northerners know, you turned your back on them. Why would they ever want to bring you home?"

"I hate Joffrey!" Sansa screamed, her face burning with shame. "I never would have told the queen about the plan if I had known what a monster he is!"

"So, if he had been as wonderful as he looked, you still would have chosen him over your family?" Sandor smirked.

"I..." Sansa looked down.

"You would have," Sandor tossed back his head and laughed. "Guess that queen's crown and the idea of mothering Joffrey's golden-haired children was too alluring for you to let something as trivial as your family get in the way."

"You hate your family!" Sansa glared at him. "You told me yourself how much you hated your brother. You'd have killed him if King Robert let the two of you near one another!"

"Aye, and I still will if he ever comes across my path again!" Sandor roared. "You think it meant anything for him to press my face to those coals?! A boy not even ten! Do you think he cared at all? And you believe **your** brother would trade a chance at victory over the Lannisters to get a pair of stupid little girls back? He has the Kingslayer as a prisoner. The Lannisters are forced into a standstill unless Tywin Lannister wants Robb Stark to snip his son's neck just like Illyn Payne did your father's."

"Stop it," Sansa murmured, her eyes growing dull as she recalled the events of that horrible day. When she had stood before the Sept, pleading for a mercy that never came.

"I was there too, girl. When Joffrey called for old Ned Stark's head. I saw him watching when it happened. Saw you too."

"Stop it," Sansa's voice grew harder, earning a cold grin from Sandor.

"Saw you in the Throne Room too," Sandor's scarred visage twisted into a grimace. "For all your chirping, it didn't stop Joffrey from making you watch, and then take you up to see the end result."

"I said stop it!" Sansa's hand reached out and struck the Hound across the face.

Sandor growled, but before he could react, something jumped from the shadows.

Sansa screamed as the man threw himself at her, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Another pair of men immediately ran for Sandor, both drawing their weapons as Sandor drew his.

"Get off of me!" Sansa's cries rang out. "Get off!"

"Ahhh," the man licked his lips, and his eyes gleamed with lust. "Yer a pretty one, aren't yeh?"

She could hear Sandor swearing as he fought off the other two.

She flinched as the man stroked her auburn braid, before his hand slipped into her gown.

"I gotta warn yeh, I'm a bit rough," he snickered. "But you won't have to worry about it 'urtin' for long."

That's when Sansa remembered the blade Sandor had given her. Even though at the time when he had, he had said it was wasted on her since she couldn't use it.

Without thinking about what she was doing, she drew the blade from the folds of her skirt and plunged it between the man's ribs and shoved him back.

The man let out a howl of pain as she shoved him away. Blood blossomed over his ragged shirt as he collapsed onto his side.

Sansa panted and when she saw the blood-covered blade in her hand, she gasped and dropped it before bringing her knees to her chest.

She could hear the other two scream in pain as Sandor ended them, their death groans filling the night air.

As she turned her attention back to the man she had stabbed, she realized the man was dead.

'_I killed someone...'_ the horrific realization left a heavy sinking in her chest. '_He's dead because of me_...'

She heard a soft chuckle and when she looked up, Sandor was standing over the corpse.

"So," he smirked. "The Little Bird _does_ have claws after all."

...

...

Well, I do hope everyone enjoyed that brand new chapter, please let me know if you did.

And the next chapter will be out on Saturday, August 15th. Until then, ladies and gentlemen.


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